


hey honey, you could be my drug

by ricocheted



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Banter, Biting, Dirty Talk, First Time, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer of Vengerberg (implied), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg (referenced), Geralt's Canonically Giant Cock, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg (implied), M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, geralt and jaskier share a single brain cell and it's on loan from yennefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricocheted/pseuds/ricocheted
Summary: "Not to worry! I'll just be off to go gather, uh. Herbs! For the suppressants. And plants. Botanicals, they taught us all about them at, um. Oxenfurt." He trips over a tree root and barely catches himself, turning it into a quick, ungainly spin. "I'll be back later," he says without looking back, words rushing into each other as he hurries toward the forest. "Solution in hand! Absolutely no need to wait up for me."Jaskier goes into heat on the road, and everyone takes a turn with the communal brain cell.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 60
Kudos: 1182
Collections: Dandelion





	hey honey, you could be my drug

**Author's Note:**

> i am but a simple goblin. i shelter in place...I write porn.  
> 

They're two days out from the nearest town the morning that Jaskier wakes up gasping, body shivering in the sun-warmed air around them. 

Geralt startles awake from an unnervingly deep sleep. He's too suspicious to be grateful, but all he hears is birdsong and swaying leaves. The air smells of grass drying with the onset of summer and beneath it is Jaskier, and he smells, he smells--

“Jaskier, what the _fuck_ ,” Geralt snaps. 

“It isn’t my fault,” Jaskier protests. It must be pure reflex, since he’s still shaking off the remnants of a troubled sleep, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair as he pulls himself up from his bedroll. His dark hair is mussed and his tongue swipes across lips that seem softer and fuller than usual.

"My ass it isn't." Geralt grits his teeth and gathers himself. Frustration still bleeds into his tone. "Have I been traveling with a pimply teenager? How the _fuck_ did you forget your heat?" 

"Excuse you, my complexion is flawless and dewy. And, ah, well." Jaskier tries and fails to sniff himself discreetly. His nipples are peaked under his chemise, which Geralt only sees because Jaskier cheerfully chooses to forget how the buttons on his doublets work. Geralt wants to remove his own eyes from their sockets with a spoon to keep himself from staring. "That is maybe, possibly, a _touch_ my fault. But!" He says, pointing insistently at Geralt. "You must admit, if we hadn't been forced to make a home of those filthy caves through _multiple_ days of raging thunderstorms, I would already be back in town, safely ensconced in a welcoming bed." 

Geralt just fought his way through a forest, a cockatrice-infested cave system, and back through the forest. He'd rather do it again than deal with the likely aftermath of Jaskier's bedwarming.

“Regardless! All is well, when you’re traveling with your friendly neighborhood Witcher.” The bard stands with a flourish, looking at him expectantly. 

“What.” Geralt genuinely has no fucking idea what Jaskier is talking about. 

“Well,” Jaskier says, waving his hand at Roach. “Don’t you have suppressants? Somewhere in your mysterious potion collection, perhaps? I know you’re stingy with them, but, you know what they say, if there’s ever a time to share.” 

“I’m not _stingy_ ,” Geralt argues. “Everything in there would kill you. And I have no reason to carry omega suppressants.” A bewildering thought hits him. “Jaskier. I’m an alpha.” 

"Don’t you worry your rugged, virile psyche about it, Geralt,” Jaskier huffs, rolling his eyes. “I know you are. Admittedly, it was quite difficult to tell for a while, there was always so much, you know.” He makes a circular gesture, as though to encompass Geralt's very being. "Viscera." His nose wrinkles in distaste, and he flicks his hand dismissively. 

“Viscera.” Geralt says, flatly. 

“Indeed, my dear Witcher! Makes it hard to smell what’s underneath. Especially since you’re, hmm. Subtle.” A foreign concept for Jaskier, Geralt knows. He eyes Geralt curiously. “And I've never seen you during one of your ruts.”

"That’s because I keep track of my ruts, and take suppressants when one is coming." Like a regular, reasonable person, Geralt thinks. "Because I'm not some spoiled noble's pet," Geralt says, instead. 

Jaskier sniffs. "I'll have you know that my scent is considered an integral aspect of my sultry charm, and I'll not have it sullied by suppressants. I exclusively go _au naturel_." 

"You're an _au naturel_ idiot," Geralt shoots back. He'd be able to think of something better, he thinks, if it wasn't for the gentle breeze sweeping through the clearing, bringing a hint of Jaskier's pre-heat scent directly to his nose. He inhales deeply, reflexively, and Jaskier blushes red from his chest to his ears. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anything you can use.”

"Well," Jaskier says, a little more unsteadily. "We ride back, then! Post-haste. I seem to remember the town having a lovely, diversely-populated whorehouse with very tasteful decor, and I imagine we'll be flush with coin once we explain to the alderman the difference, in monetary value, between a single cockatrice and a cockatrice nest."

Geralt hums and scents the air again, ignoring Jaskier’s sputtering. “You’re too far in. It’ll hit on the road. You won’t be able to ride or walk back once it does.” Jaskier worries at his lip with his teeth, a hint of concern flitting across his face. It shouldn't make Geralt _want_ like it does, but the burgeoning heat pheromones are making his cock take interest in the vulnerability. 

This is ridiculous. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, very intentionally. “ _I'm an alpha._ ” He tries to keep his tone in check. This is the safest, most reasonable path they have. Geralt knows he's good-looking. Jaskier has _said_ that he's good-looking. They shouldn’t even be having this conversation still. They should be getting ready, making sure they have all the supplies they need.

With none of the grace one might expect of a bard of his stature, Jaskier begins backing away, gesturing to the forest behind him. "Not to worry! I'll just be off to go gather, uh. Herbs! For the suppressants. And plants. Botanicals, they taught us all about them at, um. Oxenfurt." He trips over a tree root and barely catches himself, turning it into a quick, ungainly spin. "I'll be back later," he says without looking back, words rushing into each other as he hurries toward the forest. "Solution in hand! Absolutely no need to wait up for me." 

Geralt already killed everything dangerous in those woods, so he lets Jaskier beat a clumsy retreat. 

Well. _Fuck_. 

***

He gets in touch with Yennefer. She laughs long and hard, throwing her head back while he rubs the bridge of his nose. He’d enjoy seeing her so lighthearted, mirth shining from her lavender eyes, if it wasn’t almost entirely at his expense. 

“I don’t have any spare suppressants,” Yennefer informs him through whatever portal is allowing them to see and speak to each other. Around and behind her appear to be tables full of alchemical supplies; in her hand is a bundle of dried herbs, tied with twine. "And certainly not ones suitable for an omega.” 

She snorts when he tells her about Jaskier’s scheme to make his own. "Even if you were to successfully identify and harvest the components--doubtful, given the region you’re in--the suppressants must be brewed over several days by trained hands, lest you poison yourself.” Yennefer eyes him. “Your bard is an idiot, correct?" 

“Not my bard,” Geralt retorts. “And only sometimes an idiot.”

“A glowing assessment of his skills. My professional recommendation would be to drag him out of the forest before he tries something truly moronic, like eating any of those flowers raw.”

“Besides,” Yennefer continues, giving him a shrewd look. “He already has access to a perfectly serviceable alpha.” His awkward silence lingers for just a moment too long and Yennefer gives him a slow smirk, teal-smudged eyes glinting with speculation. “Unless you’re otherwise indisposed, and would like to request my help.” Geralt isn’t there to scent her and find out for himself, but she doesn’t sound entirely disingenuous. “I think I’d quite like his mouth, if it was engaged in pursuits other than talking." 

Geralt, thrown off-guard and uncomfortably aroused, manages to snort and direct his gaze towards the heavens as though that could somehow hide the way his nostrils flared at the thought. He’s already imagining how they would look together. How they would smell together. Yennefer's lips twist smugly and her gaze turns predatory.

"I'm quite sure there's nothing your bard would enjoy more than to be taken by two alphas," Yennefer purrs. Geralt desperately needs to regain control of this conversation, because now all _he_ can think about is how much he would enjoy fucking Jaskier through his heat together with Yennefer. He thinks his mouth is watering. _Fuck_.

Geralt breathes sharply, scrubbing his hand across his face as Yennefer's laughter reaches his ears, though it doesn't sound unkind. "Not happening, Yenn." Omegas react to heat in very different ways. "He might actually try to claw your eyes out this time." It’s a reasonable assumption, he thinks. 

“Tragic,” Yennefer sighs. She taps the bundle of herbs she’s holding against her mouth, considering. “Still, he’s the last person I would expect hesitation from. I’m actually impressed by the breadth of his proclivities; I’ve been offered at least two different revenge contracts against him by vexed spouses.” Geralt narrows his eyes, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “No need to work yourself up, I obviously didn’t take them.” 

Geralt _hmphs_ , but Yennefer ignores him. "Have you considered that he thinks you’re not attracted to him? That this would be nothing more than a begrudging favor? That would certainly ruin my mood." 

Geralt frowns. Of course he's attracted to Jaskier. Jaskier, with his clever, sharp tongue, and his clever, calloused fingers, the way he beams like the sun breaking through the clouds and once stabbed a man in the neck when Geralt got caught flat-footed. His technique was terrible and he’d complained about the blood speckling his doublet for weeks, and every time, against all reason, something in Geralt swelled with what he later realized was fondness _._

Jaskier is also _beautiful_ , in a way that makes Geralt want to hunt him down and fuck him amongst the trees, until there's no part of him that smells of anything but dirt and woods and Geralt. 

He’s never told Jaskier a single bit of it, because Jaskier is already as insufferable as Geralt can take without throttling him. Moreover, in the entirety of the time Geralt has known him, Jaskier has never once failed to chase any and every foolhardy pursuit that caught his eye. Not in the face of destitution or indignity; not on pain of death or literal emasculation. If Geralt truly had been one of those dim-witted impulses the situation would have resolved itself long ago. 

Yennefer looks increasingly unimpressed as she watches him sift through his thoughts.

“Fine,” Geralt grumbles. He doesn’t know if he’s more disgruntled by Yennefer’s chastisement or the thought of a direct conversation with Jaskier. The prospect fills him with a bizarre mix of dread and anticipation. “I’ll talk to him.” 

***

Jaskier wanders back to camp just before sundown, right as Geralt is considering venturing in to find him. Since he spoke to Yennefer he's bathed in a cold stream nearby, gathered food and water for the few days it may take for the worst to pass, and arranged their bedrolls close together, close to the trees. It’s very purposefully as far away from Roach as possible.

"Jaskier, come here." It’s hard for Geralt to sound soothing when Jaskier smells _so good_ , strong enough that Geralt could scent it before he emerged from the forest. He tries to look like a man whose mouth isn’t watering and assumes that the scowl darkening Jaskier’s face means it isn’t working. Fuck. 

“You know, Geralt, I think I’ll pass," Jaskier says, loftily. Between the fading light of dusk and the glow of the fire, Geralt can see the bard shivering, arms crossed over his chest. 

Geralt nearly bares his teeth in exasperation. “ _Jaskier._ Be reasonable for _once_." He takes a deep breath through his mouth. "Listen, I talked to Yennefer--"

“You talked to _Yennefer_ about this?” The last time Geralt heard Jaskier’s voice so high-pitched there was a nobleman holding a dagger to his balls. “Wonderful. And _how_ , exactly, did that work out? Did she grace you with her _witchy insight?_ Or did you need to ask her _permission_ \--”

“There’s no need to concern yourself with what Yennefer and I do.” It comes out harsher than he intends, but the brief pause in which he considers apologizing is plenty of time for Jaskier eyes to widen comically in righteous indignation, chest heaving.

"Oh, no, _far_ be it from me to get in the middle of your--your weird alpha tryst!" _Would you_ like _to get in the middle of my weird alpha tryst_ , Geralt nearly blurts out. He hasn’t kept his footing in a single fucking conversation today. He’s _trying_ , but Jaskier is a boulder barreling down the mountain towards him.

"Tell me, Geralt, why would I trust _Yennefer_ _of Vengerberg_ not to rip off my cock and grind it up to put into her _sex potions_?" Jaskier demands. He sniffs and averts his gaze. "She'd likely be able to raise her prices, given the dramatic increase in potency I'm sure would result." 

Wild-eyed and halfway through snarling back at Jaskier, Geralt pauses. The bard shifts in his clothes, panting for breath, looking as though he's about to stagger forward. Jaskier's trying to distract himself through his heat, Geralt realizes, the absolute _moron_. But he’s losing ground. It smells like he's trying to stopper a bottle with a cork that doesn't fit. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says. “Shut up.” 

Jaskier gathers himself and shoots Geralt a look at odds with the sweat beading on his brow, the huskiness of his voice. “I’ll not be the recipient of a pity fuck, thank you,” he retorts. “Better an unpartnered heat than one spent with an uninterested bedmate. Even if it’s you, Geralt. _Especially_ if it’s you." He meets Geralt's eyes again, ferocious and resolved. “You can stay to ensure that I’m not _set upon by_ _scoundrels_ or what have you, or you can leave and return, as you wish. But this won't be how our partnership ends." 

Geralt closes his eyes and inhales deeply, entirely aware that there's no coming back from this. "Jaskier. The last time we stayed in a real inn I brought myself off in the bath listening to you play in the tavern. You touch yourself more often than not when we make camp, and I haven’t brought it up because I like it.” Every word out of his mouth is more embarrassing than the last. "Say the word. I'll leave you be. We need never speak of it again." Despite everything, the corners of his mouth curl upwards. "Though I will stay to ensure that you aren't _set upon by scoundrels_." 

The clearing is deathly still. It’s the purest quiet Geralt has ever experienced with the bard in tow. "Geralt," Jaskier says, finally. "Come here." He does, and Jaskier gets ahold of his chin, tilting his face down.

"I _trust_ you, Geralt. And that isn't the heat talking." Jaskier pauses. "Well, maybe a touch, since this would otherwise be divulged exclusively to Roach, and in strict confidence." He eyes Geralt suspiciously. "If you're lying to me, I'll take my leave and compose the most unflattering songs ever written, all about you. You'll be my new Valdo Marx."

It's the most dramatic threat Jaskier's ever made. Geralt might actually be concerned, under other circumstances. "Jaskier, show me one lie I've told you." He pushes at Jaskier's shoulder to cut off his protests. "And _no_ , insults don't count."

The touch seems to startle Jaskier into silence. Something flickers in his eyes. Geralt thinks it might be hysteria.

“Just one, very quick question,” Jaskier remarks, after a while. “Have you ever paused to consider, to devote a _single_ thought, to what motivates my, gods above, _extremely conspicuous_ nighttime pursuits? When we’re alone. Together. In the wilderness. Forging unparalleled bonds in the face of danger and triumph.” 

Geralt nearly snorts. His knee-jerk retort gets cut off by the gentle, unexpected slide of Jaskier's fingers into his hair. It makes his cock _throb_.

Instinctively, he shifts closer to Jaskier. “Not...really,” Geralt replies, belatedly realizing that Jaskier is waiting for an actual answer. His thoughts haven’t caught up to the insinuation of their bodies. “Whores? Nobles? It wasn’t my business--” He doesn't finish before Jaskier tightens his grip on his hair and drags him forward to kiss him, dirty, open-mouthed, and with an aggressive and somehow unsurprising amount of tongue. Consumed with relief and hunger, Geralt digs his fingers into Jaskier’s ass, slotting their bodies together so he can squirm against Geralt’s crotch. Jaskier stutters out a moan, eyes lighting up when Geralt mirrors it.

"Geralt, you beautiful idiot," Jaskier breathes. “Have you considered that you are _the worst_?” He bites at Geralt's lip and immediately soothes it with the soft press of his own lips, over and over and over. "Think about the missed opportunities." Geralt licks into his mouth, curling his tongue against Jaskier's in apology. Pushing Geralt away, Jaskier frantically shimmies out of his doublet, cursing as he wrestles with his sweat-soaked chemise. "Just, _ah_ , one moment--" 

Impatient, Geralt grabs the front of the chemise and tears it down the middle.

Jaskier's jaw drops. " _Really_ , Geralt?" He clutches the tattered cloth draped over his chest, wide-eyed and scandalized. “You're, _mm,_ paying for _\--_ " Geralt interrupts him with deep, hungry kisses until Jaskier is panting his complaints into Geralt's mouth, not even bothering to pull away between words. Geralt rakes his nails down Jaskier's chest and assumes from the upturn of lips against his that he's forgiven.

He slides his fingers down and brushes the cloth of Jaskier’s waistband. Jaskier exhales a soft, shivery breath, fingers loosely circling Geralt’s wrist. Geralt hesitates. His concern goes right out the window when Jaskier flashes him a grin and tightens his grip, keeping Geralt’s hand in place so he can thrust against it. 

"That's mine," Geralt informs him, breaking the hold and ignoring Jaskier’s huff so he can reach lower to rub at the cloth covering him. The fabric is already damp _,_ Geralt realizes, moaning helplessly and pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s. Jaskier whines with the first hint of embarrassment Geralt’s heard all night so he rubs harder, nearly frenzied. 

“I’ve already mourned these, get them _off_ ,” Jaskier complains, clawing at the fastenings. _“I don’t care_ _how_.” Slowed by Geralt ravaging Jaskier’s bruised mouth and Jaskier clumsily groping every bit of Geralt in reach, they manage to strip him bare. The faintest trace of apprehension flickers across Jaskier’s face, but Geralt can’t stop looking at him, his soft, pale skin, cock stiff, thighs glistening with--

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt says. He lifts the bard up, finds the nearest tree, and traps Jaskier between it and the solid stretch of Geralt’s body. Jaskier adjusts quickly, squirming hotly, unbothered by the bark at his back.

"Oh, _Witcher_ \--" Jaskier murmurs, breaking into a whine when Geralt buries his face in the hollow of Jaskier’s throat and sucks a dark bruise there. Geralt's ears burn at the endearment. Dragging his mouth up the column of Jaskier’s neck he makes another, and another, and another. He coaxes Jaskier’s hips into a careless rhythm against his own, nearly dropping him when Jaskier digs his heels into Geralt's back.

“Lovely as this is,” Jaskier says, hoarsely, slapping at Geralt’s arms, “and it _really_ is, we should revisit at a less, ah, _pressing_ moment, let me down, we have other matters to tend to, very important ones.” Grumbling into the curve of Jaskier’s jaw, he carries the bard to their bedrolls. Jaskier drops to his knees easily, swaying and humming when Geralt carefully fists his sweat-darkened hair. Pushing his head against Geralt's hand, he huffs when Geralt takes no further action.

"Keep going, Witcher, read the room." Jaskier tilts his face towards Geralt, aggravating the hold on his scalp. "You'll know if you should stop, I'm very--" Rolling his eyes, Geralt twists his hand and yanks. Jaskier moans and jerks, clutching Geralt’s thighs to steady himself. Heat curls in Geralt's chest as Jaskier fumbles at the front of his pants, muttering under his breath. " _What_ is happening down here, Geralt, no one needs this many buttons--"

"Many things are happening down there," Geralt responds, as dryly as he can whilst deeply, impossibly aroused. "And you're one to speak of buttons." He takes pity on Jaskier as much as himself by stripping out of his shirt, hands shaking, as Jaskier finishes tearing off his pants.

Silence reigns. Geralt is overheated, flushed, and leaking. It feels like every single part of his body is throbbing.

"Well," Jaskier breathes, blue eyes feverish and gazing wildly at Geralt's cock. "Good that we're doing this when I'm in heat, then." He leans in, digging his fingertips into Geralt’s thighs. "You'd ruin me otherwise." His breath ghosts over Geralt. "And I'd let you." Jaskier licks his lips, close enough that his tongue curls against the head of Geralt's cock. Geralt’s thoughts stutter to a halt and he thrusts without thinking, but Jaskier rocks back on his heels, thumbing his nipples and palming his own cock. He fixes Geralt with a heavy-lidded gaze and a grin, slipping his fingers between his legs. "I'd let you do anything to me."

Geralt snarls and takes Jaskier to the ground. Undaunted, Jaskier withdraws his fingers, glistening wet, and lavishes them with broad swipes of his tongue. He peers out from under his lashes to gauge Geralt's response. 

"Like that?" Jaskier breathes, smugly. He grinds upwards, arching his back when his cock slides against Geralt's. In response, Geralt sinks two fingers into his hole and twists. Jaskier moans brokenly and Geralt rubs the rough pads of his fingers over his insides as Jaskier writhes and clenches around him. He's _soaked_. Geralt can feel more, _smell_ more, leaking from him.

"How are you still talking," Geralt demands. He pulls his two fingers out of Jaskier and slips three back in, easily. Jaskier laughs breathlessly, breaking into a moan as he shoves his hips down, riding Geralt's hand like it was a cock. Flustered, Geralt can't help what spills from his mouth. "Wouldn't be surprised if someone threatened to knot your mouth, just to quiet--" 

Without warning Jaskier shudders and comes, squirming on Geralt's fingers, practically grinding against his palm. They both freeze. Jaskier looks dumbstruck, but his hips begin rocking again, thoughtless. 

Geralt ignores the yelp Jaskier makes when he yanks his hand out, wiping the slick on Jaskier's hip. Heedless of the come splattered across his stomach and chest he plasters himself against Jaskier, licking sweat off his neck, rutting mindlessly into the crease of his thigh.

"The next time that happens it'll be on my knot," Geralt insists, frenzied. It's a threat and a promise, one that hooks itself deep into Jaskier, who makes a desperate sound in return. He sits back onto his knees and dips his hand between Jaskier's thighs, gathering up the wetness he finds to slick himself up. He falters right as he thumbs at his slit because Jaskier’s legs fall open, giving Geralt a glimpse of his dripping hole. Geralt’s frantic with the need to bury his cock in it, but he tries to be careful as he leans forward and guides himself in. 

" _Ohhh_ , gods," Jaskier groans, more to himself than Geralt. “Just, wait, give me a moment.” Geralt grits his teeth against the instinct to slide right in, shifting back and forth with the effort. The head of his cock, just barely inside Jaskier, rubs at his entrance. 

"Don't," Jaskier gasps, tugging at his own nipples anyways, "don't tease, Witcher, it’s _rude_.” Mesmerized, Geralt pulls out and fucks back into Jaskier, shallowly, watching the head of his cock nudge back in, dragging out a desperate whine. The bard makes a sound like he's been punched. 

"I can't die like this, Geralt,” Jaskier pleads, scrabbling at Geralt’s upper arms. 

Geralt laughs. It's embarrassingly affectionate. "And yet, here we are." 

Jaskier raises his eyebrows and smirks. It’s the only warning Geralt gets before the bard props himself up and buries his fucking teeth into one of Geralt’s nipples, releasing it with a swift, casual lick. 

Geralt chokes on a stunned moan and snaps his hips forward, sinking half of his length into Jaskier at once. He’d meant to ease in, but Jaskier refuses to be anything but the most annoying person Geralt has ever met and feels so fucking _good_. Jaskier falls back, mouth open and curved softly, making shocked, cut-off noises. His knot _aches_.

“You deserved that,” Geralt tells him, without the slightest idea of how he intends it. Leaning over Jaskier, he braces himself on his forearms and presses fervent, open-mouthed kisses to the bruises dotting his neck, snarling as Jaskier makes an agreeable sound and rakes deep scratches into Geralt’s shoulders. 

“I did,” Jaskier pants, eagerly. “Still do, so--” Geralt briefly fits his hand over Jaskier’s throat and Jaskier whines, so pliant that Geralt pushes a few inches deeper. The noise Jaskier makes barely sounds human. " _Please_ , Geralt, just _fuck me_. I’ll beg, I’ll _behave_.” 

“No, you won’t,” Geralt counters, even as his cock twitches. Alarmed at the way Jaskier's gaze turns sly, Geralt drives forward and bottoms out, reveling in Jaskier’s choked whine. He presses a soft kiss to Jaskier’s temple and idly rubs his swelling knot at the outside of the bard’s rim.

"Geralt,” Jaskier hisses, flushed and needy. "If you don't move, _right now_ , I'm going to pick one of your swords and stab you with it.” He shimmies and tries to fuck himself on Geralt’s cock, but Geralt holds him still, digging thumbs into his midriff. 

“Good luck with that,” Geralt bites off, delirious with the hot, wet clutch of Jaskier around him. He withdraws, just barely, and pushes in again, shuddering as Jaskier lets out a dazed moan and rocks against him. He gives another shallow thrust, trying to get the bard used to him. The attempt lasts about as long as it takes Jaskier to slip his hand down to where they're joined and rub the slick leaking out of himself into Geralt’s knot. 

The noise that tears its way out of Geralt’s chest isn’t even _close_ to human; neither is the one that Jaskier makes when Geralt drags his cock out and fucks back in with a brutal thrust, so deep that his knot sinks in too.

“ _You_ ,” Geralt fumes, wide-eyed and incredulous. He bares his teeth, abruptly out of his mind with everything Jaskier has ever been and ever done. Geralt drives his hips forward in a bruising rhythm, trying to distract himself from the terrible realization that, more than anything, he just wants to give the bard whatever he wants. 

“ _Me_ ,” Jaskier agrees, between moans. Geralt shifts and angles his strokes upwards, satisfaction curling in him at the ragged edge to Jaskier’s sounds. He rests his thumb on Jaskier's throat to try to feel them. He’s so close, pressure building in his knot with each stroke, making it difficult to push past Jaskier’s rim. The sum total of each successive, crazed realization that Jaskier was going to be just as difficult during heat as any other time suddenly consumes him.

“Are you always like this,” Geralt rasps, brushing a lock of Jaskier’s dark hair away from his forehead. "During heat?"

"No," Jaskier replies, shooting Geralt a hazy grin. Something open and honest unfurls across his face, underneath the sweat and lust. His eyes are very blue, and very bright. 

Geralt's brought up short, hips stuttering, swept with both the realization that he's about to come and the frenzied need to haul Jaskier along with him. For his part, Jaskier looks delirious beneath him, eyes fluttering closed, precome drooling from his cock onto his midsection. Geralt drags his fingers through it and fists Jaskier's cock, mesmerized by the way he curls into Geralt's strokes, gasping for air. 

Halting words bloom on the tip of Geralt’s tongue. He isn't ready to say any of them, so he presses his lips just below Jaskier's jaw, feels the beating of the bard's heart hot and fierce under his mouth, and bites. He comes like that, too, jerking with each pulse of his cock, teeth buried in the column of Jaskier's throat.

Still shuddering with his release, Geralt feels his knot finish swelling, locking him and Jaskier together. Jaskier writhes and gasps out something that sounds like his name, so Geralt pulls away to look at him.

"Absolutely _useless_ , Geralt," Jaskier tells him, wild-eyed, voice threaded with laughter. Biting his lip, he palms his own cock, just above Geralt's lapsed grip. He rubs at the head once, twice, before he comes, spilling over his fingers with a wordless, wounded noise. The clearing goes quiet once more, but for their labored breathing. For a moment Jaskier looks at him, dazed and strangely vulnerable. 

Geralt promptly ruins the moment by dropping on top of him, letting Jaskier take his weight. He smirks at the wheeze the bard lets out, regretting it immediately as Jaskier retaliates by clenching viciously around him. Geralt hisses, cock pulsing with another rush of come. 

“So glad we could do this, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes. He sounds like Geralt reached into his throat and scraped it raw. “Fantastic idea, well-executed.” Jaskier moves to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Geralt's generous enough to snatch his hand before he accidentally smears come on his own face. Idiot. 

“Shut up,” Geralt replies, half-heartedly. They really are disgusting, but there’s nothing to be done about it. “And stop moving. I’ve earned some peace and quiet.” Jaskier hums and, by the gods, actually listens, tracing idle shapes on Geralt’s shoulders. Mercifully, Geralt begins to slowly drift off.

"For your information, Witcher," Jaskier eventually comments, out of nowhere. Geralt props himself up and shoots the bard a dry look. He has no fucking idea what Jaskier could be talking about. "Give it a day or two. Then you'll get your blessed silence.” Jaskier tilts his head up towards Geralt and leers. “Well. I'll stop talking, at least." 

Geralt groans and buries his face in Jaskier’s shoulder. His cock twitches weakly and Jaskier laughs, not unkindly. "I'll count the hours." 

***

"So," Jaskier says, as casually as one can whilst looking like they've been ravaged by lusty wolves. Love bites litter his neck and chest, and there's come splattered across most of him. He smells like a whorehouse where Geralt is the only patron. Geralt’s forced to admit that he fucking loves it. "Your, uh, next rut. When is it? Exactly? Not for any particular reason, mind, purely for curiosity's sake." He keeps rambling on, words fading into the background and ignored almost entirely as Geralt’s gaze lingers on his bruised mouth. 

Geralt _hmms_ , feigning contemplation. Jaskier trails off, uncertainty beginning to flit across his features as the moments wear on.

“A month and a half from now," Geralt responds, making his amusement evident. He doesn't quite know what day it even is, but he knows his own body. "But it's possible I won't be able to find suppressants before then. They're apparently in short supply." 

Jaskier beams. _Like the sun breaking through the clouds._ Geralt willfully chooses to deal with the mess of his thoughts some other time. “Now fuck off and get dressed. We’ve got a reward to collect.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a couple thousand words shorter, but then I got horny. i also got a tumblr. catch me at ric0cheted dot tumblr dot com.


End file.
